Ginnungagap
by NeverMineToHold
Summary: A family. The one thing that is not meant to be yours when your name is Loki Laufeyson. Clint bears witness... Takes place before "Never Gonna Leave This Bed" but can be read as a stand-alone.


Title: "Ginnungagap"

Status: OneShot; complete

Fandom: The Avengers (Movie)

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Clint Barton/ Loki; Hel

Disclaimer: The Avengers belong to Marvel.

Rating: K

Genre: AU, post-movie, family

Warnings: unbeta'ed

Summary: A family. The one thing that is not meant to be when your name is Loki Laufeyson. Clint bears witness.

Note: This takes place after "Keep To The Left", "The Path I'll Follow" and "Never Gonna Leave This Bed"; the series has a little extra called "The King of Kings", but each part can be read as a stand-alone.

Ginnungagap

_Ár var alda þar er Ýmir bygði,_

_vara sandr né sær né svalar unnir,_

_jörð fannsk æva né upphiminn,_

_gap var ginnunga, en gras hvergi._

The stench of burning skin mingled like acid with the smell of fine solder before Clint could change his grip on the casing with a muttered curse. He set the arrowhead's shell and soldering iron down gently, and licked his throbbing fingertip. He would need to be more careful with the wiring.

Loki would duplicate the end product with his magic as soon as Clint was finished tinkering, but Clint had declined his offer to help with the new designs; he liked to keep busy in between missions.

"Clint."

He had become familiar with the nuances of Loki's voice, but the underlying emotions of this tone he didn't recognize and it set him on edge. Clint had left his workplace and was half-way through the cave before the decision to do so had registered.

Loki stood in the entrance, framed by the rough stone of the tunnel that connected to the surface, his face blank where shadows didn't obscure it. There was a glint in his green eyes that might have been apprehension, but the smell of ozone that lingered around him spoke of wild magic and restless excitement.

"We have a visitor I would like you to meet." Loki stepped aside, revealing the young girl that had hid behind him, one hand holding on to his traveling cloak. "This is my daughter, Hel."

Clint's mind flashed through the information he had on her, the embodiment of death, the harbinger of the end, the judge of passing souls and guardian of Helheim - and failed to reconcile that with the cute little girl that tried to slip behind her father.

The resemblance was striking, the same pale face, big green eyes with the gleam of youth and innocence hiding what lay underneath, and long black hair. Only the rune on her brow, black and framed with a red glow differed.

Clint was aware that he stood and stared but damn Loki for not warning him; he was not good with kids, never had been, and the warning to stay away was clear in Hel's rigid stance.

He almost expected Loki to mock him for his loss of words and the awkwardness like an invisible wall between them, but his smile was gentle and his gaze never wavered away from his daughter.

"Hel, this is Clint, the one I have chosen, the one who chose me. We spoke about him and so you know he means you no harm."

Clint wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Loki had told her about him or dwell on the fact that he could hurt her father with a well aimed word or by turning his back simple enough, while he was damn sure that he wouldn't have stood a chance against Hel, but her gaze was suddenly on him, peeking around Loki.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Clinton Francis Barton."

Her voice was that of an old women, faint and hoarse, breathed out into the caves air with a wisp of white; the temperature had dropped. It sent a shiver down Clint's spine and from the corner of his eye he could see that a bunch of fresh herbs for Loki's concoctions had withered, as if the life had been sucked out of it.

Falling back on manners drilled into him for infiltration missions, where he had to fit in with the rich and famous, was instinctive. He had hated it, leaving the spot light gladly to Nat in her elegant dress and sparkling jewelery.

"The pleasure is all mine."

When they passed him, Clint felt Hel's coldness seeping into his body, but Loki's hand brushing his was warm and reassurance.

Clint went back to his workplace, his heartbeat loud in his own ears, short of breath and light headed, shivering with the knowledge that death had just passed him by but stepped on his grave.

He felt mortal, in a way he hadn't before, not even when he had lain in the dirt and slowly bled out, Nat's hands on the wound applying pressure, begging him to stay conscious, to not let go. Yeah, he really couldn't remember any party in Budapest.

Clint wondered how Loki could stand her presence, how he could touch something as vile as her and then fought the instinctive revulsion down; ashamed of himself. Loki loved his children, the lost and damned others called monsters, and longed for them every moment of forced separation.

And Loki had brought her _here_, the first time Hel was free to set foot outside her domain in ages...

"Makes you all fuzzy inside," he muttered to himself, feeling a slight blush creep into his cheeks when he remembered how Loki had introduced him.

Clint snorted with amused derision, hating without heat how domestic life made him mellow, and went back to his soldering.

Wires and casing snapped into place while hushed voices drifted over from the library.

XXX

"She is asleep," Loki said, settling down on the workbench beside him.

"I bet she looks cute." Clint felt Loki's lingering gaze on him, put his tools away and turned to meet those green eyes. "She is not what I imagined the 'Goddess of Death' to be like."

"Yet you felt the terror of what she is."

It wasn't a question, but Clint nodded anyway, "I did."

"I knew you would, just as I was right to trust that you would understand," Loki's smile was genuine, but ragged around the edges. "Her realm is filled with the ruins of what once was, where the dead wander aimlessly as punishment for their sins. She looks young because she always was and ever will be. She still remembers the end of time, and the terror never fades before it begins anew."

Clint wanted to ask if Loki was talking about Ragnarok, but a brush of soft lips silenced him. "Do not worry about it."

"Right," Clint cleared his throat. "So – how bad of a first impression did I make?"

Loki chuckled, "Hel trusts my judgment."

"That bad, hm?"

"No." Loki kissed him again; like the first breath after a long dive, transferred from mouth to mouth. "That good."

XXX

Clint found them later in the library, curled up on the big cream colored couch, black hair and green clothes mingling. Hel opened her eyes at his approach; no matter his training, sneaking up on a god was as impossible as it was inadvisable.

She looked like any little girl, happy and content in her fathers arms, and knowing what Odin had deemed her eternal punishment for merely existing hit Clint full force in all its cruelness for the first time.

She smiled, mouthing something Clint couldn't read from her lips fast enough but understood anyway, and then she faded into nothing by degrees; back into her realm like a ghost.

A moment passed and Loki opened eyes that should be roiling with emotions, yet were so blank and desolate that Clint had to look away.

"Too short. Always gone so quickly," Loki said to the ceiling, before he stood and left as well, each step measured.

Clint's instinct was to follow him, to be there to watch his back, but he knew better than that.

Loki would need solitude to put the pieces back together until they held a semblance of order; he would cut himself in the process and bleed. The knowledge of what the god perceived as weakness was shared in silent agreement, but Loki was not ready for Clint to be near him nor ask for help.

The truth tasted like ashes in his mouth, but Clint knew that sometimes, there was just nothing you could do but wait and hope.

It was something he did well. In fact, they both did.

_Of old was the age | when Ymir lived;_

_Sea nor cool waves | nor sand there were;_

_Earth had not been, | nor heaven above,_

_But a yawning gap, | and grass nowhere._

_(Edda, Völuspá 3)_

The End

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